Celestial Winds Edition II
by Frayed90
Summary: Celeste discovers her control of the wind and it saves her life, but nearly destroys her mind...now a wild card, trying to stop running, but still pursued, she must choose her allies well. For her sake. For mutantkind. For humanity. Edited Publication
1. Chapter 1: Mon Pere

**Frayed:** Alright, I started this story a little over two years ago...and, well, to be honest...pretty much since I started here, so long ago, I've been meaning to go over the whole thing and improve it immensely. Original story, up to Chapter Twenty-Three, can be found at .net/s/2930521/1/Celestial_Winds. So let me summarise how this story starts and where it's going: we drift into New Orleans, a city steeped in culture and torn by the subversive powers of the Thieves and Assassins' Guilds. A web of secrets and lies...about to be torn wide open...and who is at the centre, be she black widow or ensnared prey? Why, it's my OC character, Celeste!

~...3...~

**Chapter One:** _Mon_ _Pere's Orders_

The wind slashed at the girls' figures. They cut lonely shapes, wavering reflections in the choppy water, slender forms silhouetted against the endless stretch of low, grey clouds that hung ominously above them. Two girls – no, two young women- standing on the stone bridge over the water. Bella Donna's blonde hair was almost colourless in the overcast day. Her bright, blue eyes were steely, sharp as flint, and her painted lips were pressed into a severe line and spoke of nothing but business. In two hands a dark revolvee, with the Assassin Guild's symbol on it embellished on gold. A pistol and dagger crossing- how very appropriate.

The other girl, at whom the gun was aimed, smiled ruefully, her silver-grey eyes mirroring the unhappy sky, as they wandered across the barrel of the gun to meet the eyes of the woman she'd called 'sister' for half of her life. There was a storm coming. The girl's long, ebony locks whipped across her pale face, leaving stinging lines of pink across her delicate features.

They could well have been sisters. Neither was particularly tall, but each stood straight and still, as their eyes met. Indeed, they wore almost identical outfits. Black leather dusters- the colour dull and without shine, but the quality flawless and the cut flattering. Similar material, though lighter, curved over their sleek figures. The same belt with the same gun holsters, although Bella Donna's was currently empty. The blonde girl's outfit had touches of gold- the belt buckle, the shining buttons and the plain chain around her neck- the other girl the same, but with touches of bright silver. On the girl's wrist, dangling just below the duster's sleeve, a shimmering sliver of bright silver caught the eye. If one were to capture that unshaking hand and examine the bracelet around that slender wrist, the name, 'Celeste', could be read.

Celeste- for that was indeed the dark-haired girl's name- took a step backwards, towards stone ledge of the bridge that would prevent a drunken New Orleans' citizen from taking a dip in the bayou. Belle narrowed her eyes. Celeste gave a rather morbid smile..then took another step back.

"Don't move," Belle ordered coldly, training the gun on her target's torso.

"Why not, Belle? It's not like ya couldn't hit me if I ran. Y'always were the better one with guns," Celeste retorted, her voice given a husky edge of exhaustion...her eyes shadowed. "I'm surprised Marius sent ya anyway. Why didn't he send someone who'd shoot straight away, though hesitatin' ain't your style."

Belle advanced slightly. She was within six paces of Celeste. She gave a small noise of frustration, as if irritated at herself for not simply shooting and ending the charade. This tension wasn't evident in her voice, nor in her steady hand.

"Mon pere's given ya dis last chance to come back. Even said he'd give ya a trial- haven't ya wondered why ya still breathin', Leste?" she said, false bravado in her tone, only to be immediately met with Celeste's angry reply.

"Well, ain't your _pere _the model of generosity. I'm not comin' in so shoot or put that pistol away. I'm done wid the Assassins and I'm sick of these stupid guild wars."

"Ya were told when ya joined. Ya only leave da guild with a knife in da back," she spat back, just as quickly, aiming the gun at her old friend's heart. "Guess a bullet hole would do though."

"M'not sorry for what I did, Belle. The Guild's been good to me and all, but I sure as hell ain't a killer for hire. Marius knew that the day he took me in."

"But ya killed ya own team-mate. For a thief," Belle spat. She hated the thieves with a passion. So much had changed since that night. "Henri is dead. Julien could die too...and ya did this to him. After everythin' we've done for you!"

Celeste's clear, grey eyes stared steadily into Belle's own. If this was her death, she wouldn't look away from it. And, yet, something inside her was shifting. Her heart was fluttering in her ribcage and her breaths were shallow and fast...she felt light-headed and almost dizzied. She finally blinked, unsure why she was feeling this way. Her eyes once more met Bella's, steady.

"And I have no regrets," Celeste murmured, in a soft voice, which was torn away by a sudden gust of wind, but Bella's eyes saw her lips move.

"Den I may as well of shot ya da second I saw ya."

Celeste's heart was beating so loudly...something in her suddenly exploded...and, some six feet away, a shot rang out. For a moment, everything slowed...a bullet cut its way through the air towards her, seeming almost sluggish as the girl stared at it. Celeste bowed her head, almost in resignation, then straightened up. She wouldn't die this way. She couldn't die this way.

She refused to die this way.

The wind that had previously harried that New Orleans' bridge, sending early autumn leaves skirting around their feet, suddenly roared, the bullet's certain path suddenly wavering and the burning metal was torn from its sure route and borne somewhere into the chaotic skies above. Celeste clutched at her head, the wind pressure around her suddenly dropping. Belladropped to her knees as that phantom wind sought to pluck her from the ground. Celeste, too, fell to her knees. Her eyes were glowing a glaring, unearthly white now and her mouth was slightly agape...a soundless scream on her lips.

The wind only increased and it seemed to bear down on Bella. It was no ordinary wind. Celeste...Celeste, whose own scream of fear was the very voice of the wind. She couldn't control the power- the power of the wind itself- coursing through her veins. The wind seemed only to be an extension of her own body and she pressed her enemy. But that raw power couldn't be moulded by her and torrents of wind whipped through the area, dislodging house tiles and smashing windows. She tried to quash it.

"Arrête! Arrête! Arrête!" Belladonna was yelling, in panicked French. In one hand, she still clutched the gun and the other clawed for a grip, some purchase on the uneven stone of that bridge.

Celeste's hair was flaring outwards in a dark parody of an angelic halo. Her mouth was a rictus of fear.

"Trop! Il y a trop!!" she wailed.

Bella Donna, just as the winds tore her from the bridge, cried out, doing the only thing she could think of. She shot once, twice, three times. The wind snared two of the bullets, slamming them into the ground on either side of Celeste. The third flew true; seeking the elusive spot between two ribs- Bella Donna was masterful in her trade of death. As the bullet sliced its way through the torrents of wind, Celeste's body stiffened and her back arched, her feet lifting off the ground and her form jerked into the air, defying gravity. And yet, like any mortal, as the bullet cut through her jacket, there was a sharp pain as hot metal seared flesh...and then...

Celeste's eyes were human. Pained. A light spray of scarlet blood, whipped away by the wind. And, in that same moment, she disappeared.

_--Flashback --_

"_Dis is stupid," Bella hissed, as Julien lifted her through the window, his hands lingering for just a moment extra, as if too ensure his precious, younger sister was safe. Needless to say, the Assassin princess quickly slapped those hands away._

"_Hush, petite soeur. Pere wants dis trinket, so we gonna get't for de thieves do. Ya know why he wants it, heh? Think dat them dogs are better off with it?" Julien said in a low voice._

"_Don't ya f'get I'm marryin' one of dem dogs. Y' can call him frère," Bella teased, taking Julien's place and holding the window open._

_Julien scowled, his expression dark. He'd kill the devil-eyed thief, before he let him even touch his sister. In fact, the thief would probably meet with an unfortunate accident on the way home from the wedding. A strangling-related accident._

"_And I though y'were marryin' that devilishly handsome Prince of Thieves," teased Celeste, as her pale, delicate hands appeared on the window seal and she easily levered herself up, sliding across the threshold neatly and landing silently. _

_A flash of metal and Bella's dagger was immediately at the girls throat._

"_You thinkin' thoughts about my beau, stray?"_

_Celeste rolled her eyes, the corner of her mouth quirking at the old insult turned to affectionate nickname._

"_Sure I am. He's a fine piece'f flesh, but I'm thinkin' what a mess it'll be when I'm gonna be the one picking up all the pieces of it after you've had ya fun with him Belle. Unless ya planned on stayin' faithfull and close, heh?"_

_Bella smiled and re-sheathed the dagger. Her eye flickered to the window, expectant, before returning to Celeste._

"_Pere says he doesn't want no blood spilt unless ya have to," she said with very little sincerity, before turning a critical gaze to Celeste. "Is Benoit coming up?"_

"_Non. Benny-boy be parking the car."_

_She spoke Benoit's name with contempt. The guy, despite his cockiness and being a member of the Assassins Guild's elite, was as exciting as a rock. A rock that wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. It wasn't as if Celeste could tell him who she was really with…she couldn't see the trigger-happy Benoit taking it well …she briefly let her thoughts linger on how Bella and Julien would react, let alone the whole family. Unpleasantly, at the least._

"_Thieves," hissed Julien, as, automatically, the three faded back into the shadows, breaths held, not a movement to betray their alert presence. Three figures were indeed slipping past, inky blobs in the museum's twilight darkness. The silent watchers would have missed it, if not for the low murmur of voices...somewhat argumentative, as if their minds weren't entirely on business._

"_No shooting. Too loud," breathed Julien. "Da tallest one's mine."_

_It was obvious that it was indeed Remy Le Beau and two of the farflung members of Le Beau's seemingly endless clan. The Elixir of Life guaranteed many children in a generation. Celeste's heart fluttered slightly, a shiver running down her spine or trepidation. _

'_Too many thieves,' thought Julien. 'May's'well do Jean-Luc a favour and get rid of one.'_

_They skirted the walls, towards the place that the jewel they sought was displayed. Well, rather, where it had been formerly displayed._

"_They're fast, I give'em that," Celeste murmured as Belle swore silently._

_The jewel was gone. A clean circle sliced, as neatly as anything, through the glass cabinet. Bella cursed, stealth forgotten...they'd probably even disarmed the alarm for the thieves. But the prize was not lost yet. A sharp motion of her hand spurred the group into movement, sprinting towards the back of the museum, towards the most likely exit point. And, sure enough, there were three figures, turning in surprise, poised for fight or flight...but they wouldn't be given the liberty of choice._

"_Take'em," ordered Belladonna._

"_Le Beau!" bellowed Julien harshly._

_The tallest turned slightly, head still bowed, auburn hair loose across his forehead._

"_Bella Donna, mon amore, Remy didn' think dat thieving was your style," the Prince of Thieves said smoothly, ignoring Julien._

"_Ya got something of mine, Remy. I want it."_

_There was a low laugh and he raised an eyebrow and lifted his head. He revealed his glowing eyes- a glinting scarlet on bottomless black. Those eyes now glittered with amusement._

"_Non, mon amore. Remy'll be givin' ya the big jewel at th' wedding, but ya can't have dis one."_

_One of the dark-haired thieves was eyeing Celeste with burning eyes, then tipped her an obvious, yet suggestive wink. The corner of the girl's mouth quirked in a barely concealed smile, which she quickly transfigured into a pretty scowl, glaring at the offender. _

"_Eyes ta'yaself thief. Ya don't want bebes, do ya Belle? Why don't we castrate'em?"_

_Mock horror on Remy's face, a barely muffled chuckle that seemed terribly inappropriate for the situation, with an eerie edge that made Celeste's muscles tighten reflexively and a cold feeling flood her spine. All eyes flicked back to Remy, as he reached into a coat and pulled out a card._

"_Dose be another set of Remy's jewels ya can't have. 'Sides, Remy learnt a new trick."_

_The card in his hand suddenly began to glow. Bright, crimson light flickering up its edges, It was fascinating, but Celeste, wary, was edging to the side._

"_Bella, Remy doesn't think dat did marriage gonna work out. J'ai de meilleures choses à faire que marient une chienne folle comme toi."_

_He threw the card at their feet. A triumphant grin on the thief's face._

"_Move," yelled Celeste, instinctively dodging to the side as Bella whipped behind a pillar._

_Hot-headed Julien strode forward._

"_You'll pay for that, ya devil-eyed batard!"_

_The card whined plaintively. And then it exploded. Julien's figure was briefly outlined by red light, before he was sent flying backwards into the very pole that shielded Bella, with a dull thud and sharp exhalation. His eyes were closed. In the dim, museum light, one side of his face gleamed wetly._

"_Julien!" Bella screamed, whipping out her gun and recklessly firing shots into the smoky darkness. There was one sharp cry of pain and someone fell to the ground._

"_Ya look after him, I'll get th' jewel!"_

_Celeste dashed into the darkness, slender figure immediately swallowed by the darkness...she felt, rather than saw them. She stopped abruptly._

"_Etienne? Y'alright? Eti?" she called in a soft, hesitant voice._

"_S'okay," a male voice murmured. _

_Etienne limped forward, his leg oozing blood, supported by his brother, Theo. The youngest Le Beau looked disgusted at the heavy reliance he placed on the other. Celeste acknowledged Theo with a brief nod, before moving to Etienne, body just brushing his as she worriedly looked up at his shadowed eyes. Etienne gave a familiar grin, despite the pain, he was already leaning down to kiss her, when Celeste quickly placed two gentle fingers against his lips. Celeste had always been the cautious one._

"_Etienne, ya gotta get outta here. Bella's gonna kill y'all. Julian doesn't look too good..."_

"_We be on our way, chere. Didn't know dat Remy'd do that. Idiot. Looks like da guild war's gonna get bad now."_

"_Remy's gone. He took da jewel and he ran," Theo whispered, seeming weary. "Don't think dat we'll be seein' him any time soon."_

_The smoke was starting to clear, so Celeste quickly moved to Etienne's side, whispering, "Ya gotta get outta here, both of ya."_

_She linked an arm with Etienne, supporting him, only to have him automatically try and push her away with gentle, but strong hands._

"_Non, m'amore. You get outta here. Dat crazy femme can't see you with us. Your death too."_

_He was holding his own weight and his good leg was shaking slightly, but reached out a hand to stroke her pale face. Before she had a chance to repel her again, he leaned forward to plant a chaste kiss on her mouth._

"_What da hell is going on here?"_

_Out of the darkness, Benoit strode. Dark auburn-streaked hair slicked back, expression dark, a scowl of unbridled anger touching his sharp features... Celeste turned as if electrocuted, as Benoit's angry shouts continued, rocking the silence of the museum._

"_Is dat what ya turned me down for? Dat piece of thieven' trash?" he yelled, pulling out one of his throwing knives. He was a notoriously good shot._

_Celeste immediately whipped out her gun. She'd trained with Benoit for more than four years, but her resolve was unwavering as she trained it over his torso._

"_Get back, Benoit."_

_There was a crazy gleam in her rejected suitor's eyes and he flicked his hand forward, just as Celeste shot. Celeste's shot slammed just below his heart, but his shot was truer. As Benoit fell gasping and wheezing, his lung punctured, Etienne had slumped onto his brother. A dagger in his side and blood coursed down his side. He took gasping breaths of air, only to exhale them wetly...a red spray colouring the air. His eyes already seemed to glaze over, seeing something in the empty darkness that they didn't._

"_Bella Donna," he wheezed once, before he closed his eyes for the last time._

"_Eti?" Celeste whispered, before repeating his name desperately. It was too late, he was gone. She hadn't even understood what his last words had meant, as he named the blonde assassin._

"_Get out of here," Theo whispered urgently. "Now. Eti wouldn't want ya caught up in this. Get out of da guild, get outta New Orleans. Ya can't go back now."_

_Celeste took a last look at Benoit, whose breathing had stopped too, unnoticed by the panicked thief and the soon-to-be-exiled assassin._

_She took two steps backwards, threatened tears spilling as she looked at Theo, as he gently lowered his little brother's still form onto the cold tile of the museum. The distant ringing of sirens reached her ears and, dashing away tears, she turned sharply and ran into the darkness. There was no going back, ever. It was her first kill, her own team-mate. It was her first love, her enemy. No going back now._

_Theo faded into the darkness, briefly bowing his head as he bid farewell. Images fled across his vision as he turned, heading for the skylight they'd entered through. A dark-haired boy with a cheeky grin, besting him yet again as they wrestled playfully...boosting him over a high wall as the sound of vicious barking neared...his shy expression as he fumbled for words, as he spoke of his newest love. Etienne lay cold on the floor. The guilds had an unspoken agreement. The dead would be respected and returned._

_And, as he departed, two bodies lay on the ground, slowly losing the warmth of life. Becoming cold. Belle had seen it all. Etienne, as his soul departed from his body, had seen her and tried to warn them._

"_There's no goin' back now," she said coldly, hands red with Julien's lifeblood._

_And, leaning casually against a display, like some archaic priestess for a long-dead deity, ice blue eyes laughed as the game began._

--End Flashback --

Have you ever had that dream when you're flying? When you're so high above everything that nothing matters? Snippets of memory. Moments of seeming consciousness. Not controlling the path of your destiny, but simply content to float, to let the wind carry you wither it will?

Celeste dreamt. She disembodied herself from what it had been to be human. Everything had been too hard. Now, she floated on air. Or was she air? Either way, she had no desire to return.

She was a wisp of air in the wide, infinite sky. Air doesn't feel. Air doesn't think. Air is nowhere, but it is everywhere. These words echoed through her head. For a moment, her human consciousness arose.

'You're doin' this,' she told herself, 'this must be 'anoth one of them powers.'

But she quelled such thoughts, content to not be human. But she didn't think she was a mutant either. Perhaps she should try to turn back.

'No. Not yet,' she said. 'Gotta get away...oh God...Etienne...'

Before the grief could well, she closed her mind's eye and let go entirely. She felt her fragmented form float and join an air current. It would be spring soon and the warmer winds of the south blew ever north...

(/\)

**Frayed:** So, I think it's improved. What about you? Celeste has discovered her powers, y'all know what she's running from and now she's headed north…what's north of New Orleans? Why…Bayville, New York! Drifting upon the air currents, Celeste had forgotten herself and doesn't want to remember…and, in the next chapter, Cerebro has detected something strange…and what has Storm so bothered? Find out when I finally get around to updating the next chapter. Peace out. READ AND REVIEW PLEASE!

**Translations:**

_Arrête!_ "Stop!"

_Trop! Il y a trop!_ "Too much! There's too much!"

_J'ai de meilleures choses à faire que marient une chienne folle comme toi._ "I have better things to do than marry a crazy bitch like you."


	2. Chapter 2: A Conduit

**Frayed90:** And now, my good friends (whom I'll momentarily forgive for the lack of reviews), the next chapter. The focus shifts to another place, further along in time. And Celeste's future is tied to that of the X-Men and to one weather witch in particular. Read on!

-+-

**Chapter Two: A Conduit**

Professor Charles Xavier furrowed his brow in concentration, his steel-blue eyes currently closed. Confined to a wheel chair, the bald man must have indeed looked frail, as if he bore a burden that few would envy. But Xavier was hardly that. Greatest telepath to exist yet, he by no means considered himself its greatest thinker. And, indeed, this would appear to be a conundrum to stump any great detective. It had been just nigh on a week, since Cerebro had first identified the mutant's unique signal. The freak winds that had rattled New Orleans during that very same hour...they'd been no coincidence.

Optimistic as Xavier was, he didn't believe in coincidences.

Bobby had dubbed it an 'R&R' mission: rescue and recruitment. The active X-Men, along with the aforementioned Bobby, a rather dubious addition to the team, had been deployed to the Louisiana city (much to Rogue's delight, but Scott was quick to crush this). In the tempestuous winds, it would have been an impossible landing for even the high-tech Blackbird. One of the perks of having the resident weather-witch along was the assurance of blue skies, regardless. And what had they found?

There was no terrified, newly-awoken mutant to rescue, flocked by furious anti-mutant supporters, or even a frightened being, trapped by a lack of control over its own powers. No runaway teenage, nor worry-stricken family. No rescue. No recruitment. Just the mystery that currently plagued Xavier's mind. He steepled his hands sighing wearily, recalling what Jean had presented him, in a neat little bundle. Much of it had been found on the bridge, where Cerebro had marked the mutant to have come into her powers.

Heavy-toed combat boots, a many-pocketed duster, plastered to the inner wall of the bridge by the winds...a burnt-edged bullet hole, splattered with blood, on its chest. A single canvas gloves, light and breathable. A belt with an empty gun holster. A row of neat, little throwing knives in a customised belt and a lethal looking dagger in one boot.

Jean, who was considered the best at human-mutant relations, had asked the thick-accented citizens of the area whether they'd heard of any shootings and, in particulars, ones that involved mutants. She'd been met with thin-lipped silences, outright rejections and no few people, who had gabbled away apologetically in Cajun, before turning to share a laugh with friends.

"D'you mean da ones last night in da alley or da ones in da museum real early dis mornin'? Or was it da shootout ya were after?" one had queried her in a bemusedly conversant tone; there would be no answers there.

The clothes and the weapons found had been strewn by the wind on the bridge. The same scent that Logan had picked up on the clothes, seemed to pervade the whole city, preventing any form of physical tracking. However, Cerebro was still able to locate a mutant, if that mutant was to use his or her powers.

And, most confusing of all, the fact that the signal had not died out. The same mutant was now using her powers constantly, so that, since her powers had first manifested, she had yet to stop using that power. At times, she had ripped across the country and at others she had sluggishly circled certain areas. She was inconstant and untraceable, much like a teleporter. But even one such as that would have to come to a stop at some point. Having pinpointed her position on Cerebro, she'd become one of the constant presence his mind just barely touched at every moment.

"Where are you? What are you doing?" he said, both aloud and telepathically. "I intend no harm. Reveal yourself."

There was the same empty silence- not that it was ever truly silent for the Professor. There was always the roaring undertone of millions of individuals thinking...billions of humans and mutants, always thinking. He sighed heavily, before wheeling himself out of the room. He needed a break. A cup of tea, perhaps. The light-hearted chatter of the New Recruits...perhaps not the over sombre discussions with the team leaders, Scott and Jean. The door opened, machinated by unseen forces, and Xavier nearly ran into his colleague, Ororo Monroe: Storm. She stepped neatly back, her every movement infused with liquid graze.

"My apologies, Ororo. I've been distracted," he explained apologetically. "Perhaps you might join me for tea?"

"Of course, Charles. I'm glad that you summoned me, for I have matters I wish to discuss with you," Storm said, a slight expression of puzzlement on her face – surely she hadn't been summoned for something so trivial as a cup of tea.

Xavier exhaled, a sheepish expression creeping across that ageless face of his.

"I'm afraid that I must have projected that particular thought across the mansion. Undoubtedly, I shall have all the students revealing themselves to me this afternoon."

"Then perhaps I will discuss it with you after," Storm conceded, a little distracted. "You look in need of a strong cup of tea. Or perhaps even something a bit stronger." She raised an eyebrow, half-amused, half-coaxing.

"You know me better than that, Ororo," Charles said with a ghost of a chuckle. "Tempting as it may be, Scott and Jean are probably in their uniforms by now."

Ororo laughed too, a rich, melodic sound as soothing as the first sounds of rain on the roof. They parted ways. As she rounded the corner, Storm paused, shaking her head as if to destroy the mist threatening to creep across her vision. The fragile mental barrier that Xavier had once taught them all to erect was no protection. Blindly, she headed upstairs.

'X-Men, please disregard my last command,' Xavier projected across the mansion, his awareness briefly expanding to catch half-formed threads of thought from his students.

Some floors above him, he heard a very real, dull thump. Sam Guthrie had yet to adjust to other presences in his mind. The messy haired Southerner dropped whatever he was holding or fell over his own feet, whenever his or Jean's mind reached out. In response to his sudden realisation and subsequent confusion, he sensed Jean's own awareness reaching curiously, instinctively, towards him in query.

'What is this?' he questioned himself, gently removing Jean's tentative probe, like a parent patiently removing a curious child's grasping hand. 'Why only Storm?'

There were always so many questions. He could feel a headache coming on already.

_--Flashback --_

_Carried. She was being carried. Not gently cradled, or even half-dragged, but slung over someone's shoulder and being jostled about like a sack of potatoes. She remained still and relaxed, but opened one eye slightly..a sliver of cloudy grey, turned to dusk in that dim light. No wonder she couldn't hear footsteps- her captor tread softly on red, thick and luxurious. A hotel? A mansion? Voices- voices raised in alarm. That eye immediately closed and she focussed on keeping her body limp...even still, she couldn't help from stirring slightly, as she was unceremoniously dropped onto the floor. Thank the gods for rich men's carpet. It felt soft under her throbbing head._

"_Merde, Belle, what happened?"_

"_Dis fool 'ttacked Julien-"_

"_S'he alright?" the man cut her off, in a tone of a command, that demanded the right answers and respect; Celeste could feel eyes burning into her form, but, with an effort, she kept from quivering._

"_Da boy's fine-" another man's voice now "-just a little scratch to da chest. He be at da doctor's now. Good 's new in no time."_

"_So he knocked de fille out?"_

"_Non, pere," I did," the girl's voice again, scornful and proud. "Julien busy bein' polite, like he is with all de girls."_

_There was a loud chuckle, accompanied with a small huff from the haughty female._

"_And at what point did ya get dat belle shiner?"_

"_She hit me," she murmured back._

"_She landed a hit on ya Belle- m'own femme fatale. I tought dat ya trainers said ya could fight hand-to-hand?"_

"_Non pere! Dis girl- she's a thief- she is! She was afta his money!"_

"_A thief?"_

_The tone had changed now and the tension was high. The silence was ominous._

"_You dere, fille. Get up. You a thief?"_

_Caught out. Celeste stood unsteadily, surging to her feet too quickly and clutching at air for support._

"_I needed the money...nothing personal," she said in a soft voice, words slightly slurred, her mouth dry. "Not normally a thief."_

_She could barely see; she blinked. A powerfully-built man, just past his prime...sharp, dark eyes. Dark hair frosted with grey. Red dots danced before her eyes._

"_If y'ain't a thief, why'd ya attack my fils?"_

"_To take his wallet," Celeste said honestly, with a frown- this wasn't sounding right in her fevered mind. _

_Silence._

"_But I didn't- did I?"_

_The man laughed again._

"_Ya a brave child! Like dat- ya attacked a boy near twice ya senior and three times ya weight. Who's ya pere?"_

_Celeste pressed her lips together slightly. She didn't have a father. And one day, she'd kill him for what he'd done to her mother. Her silence answered the question._

"_No pere? Ya gotta place to stay? No 'un but a thief 'ttacks people for dere money if dey gotta home. No home, heh?"_

_The slightest shake of a head. There was a contemplative silence. 'Just kick me out,' the girl begged with the voice of her mind, 'Don't you dare call the cops…' A thoughtful gaze was on her, a wry twist of the lips._

"_Belle, ya put this girl on of da guest rooms. No good ta us if she passes out again."_

_There was an explosion of plaintive French._

"_We always need new blood Belle. 'Sides, if dat Jean-Luc can pick a potential off the streets, so can I. Ya follow the girl with da pretty blue and black eyes. We talk later, heh?" he addressed her again, she supposed._

"_Yes sir," she said obediently, but still not entirely cognisant of what had just occurred. If the man wanted to play the good Samaritan and give her a place to sleep and a hot meal, she'd accept those gratefully. And, in return, she'd make short work of any electronics or silver he kept._

_As she followed the blonde girl, around her own age, out of the room, Storm mouthed 'Merci' to the man, who would give her everything in life._

_--End Flashback --_

'Merci' Storm mouther into the emptiness of her lofty, attic greenhouse. She was remembering when he had first met Marius Boudreaux, the Assassin kind, who would become her foster father and, eventually, commission someone to kill her. But Storm had never met these people: Julien; Bella Donna; Marius.

'That's not my memory,' she said to herself. 'Whose is it?'

It was like a chill breeze on the back of one's neck. It was not telepathy, but nor was it spoken aloud. Just a whisper, borne on the wind, brushing sweet and forlorn across Storm's mind.

'No it's not,' the voice sighed. 'It's a good memory though- y'should keep it.'

'Who are you?' Storm projected wildly, seeking that ghostly presence.

_--Flashback --_

"_Who're you?" the handsome, dark-locked boy asked her suspiciously, edging along the high wall that separated the French Quarter from the rest of New Orleans. _

_He'd been surprised in his day dreams, as he'd sat casually, legs hanging as he breathed in the rich, heady bouquet that was his city. He'd near fallen when the girl, silent as a cat, had easily scaled the wall, vaulting up easily...for a moment, she comically threw her hands out for balance, prompting the other to lunge forward, lest she fall. In that same instance, she'd easily dodged his grasping hand, instantly reclaiming her balance, poising neatly on that narrow strip of decaying brick._

"_Celeste," she replied, neat, pearly teeth flashing in a genuine smile, one hand confidently resting on her hip, head tilted with interest. "And you are most certainly one the Le Beaus, heh?"_

_The boy grinned back, offering the shadow of a bow and tipping an imaginary hat. _

"_Oui- da good looks run in da family, don't dey? Etienne, the best of dem all."_

"_One of Tante Mattie's brood. She says you're all th'same. Such handsome boys dey are- with such great big heads. Merde, dey'll be the death'f me!" she imitated the healer, complete with the exasperated throwing up of the hands._

"_Dat's her a'right. How d'you know her?" Etienne queried, pivoting neatly on the palm of his hand, looking up at the other girl...he studied her profile, as she looked somewhat wistfully across the view._

"_She comes t'the guild sometimes. Think she talks you boys up, just t' get at Marius."_

_There had been a mortified silence, and Celeste sent a sly look at him from the corner of her eye and smiled disarmingly. Etienne's eyes were now narrowed and wary, his hand twitching, as if suddenly missing the presence of some weapon. Celeste spoke first._

"_R'lax, Etienne. I ain't a killer," she tipped him a small wink. "Ah'm just bored."_

_The way she spoke so casually had Etienne immediately relaxed and sending her a charming grin, revealing a wicked set of dimples. In one smoothe movement, he raised a knee and twisted his foot neatly as he rose. He was only a little taller than she was...while he was at ease with balance, he looked somewhat awkward and out of place on that high wall. Celeste raised an eyebrow, as the other spoke._

"_Ya wanna walk somewhere a lil less...well, high?"_

"_Ya gonna buy me an ice cream on de ground level?"_

_Etienne's grin had widened and he offered her a hand._

"_Oui."_

"_Merci, Monsieur Le Beau," Celeste had replied with a small smile, practicing her French. "But how's a gal s'posed to get anywhere if she has t' hold your hand?"_

_Etienne's eyes once more lit with shared mirth, as his hand fell lax, then those laughing eyes glazed over._

"_Bella," he wheezed, before slumping forward, blood pooling at his feet, soaking into the worn fabric of the museum carpet._

"_Etienne…" she echoed, in horrified farewell and silent plea._

_Etienne dead. Benoit dead. A gun in her right hand and a bloodied dagger in her left. There was a sound like thunder and a piercing pain. The gun was no longer in her hand and the dagger fell._

_There was no going back._

_--End Flashback --_

'No going back…'the presence murmured sadly, receding slowly, trickling back into the great emptiness, from whence it had come.

The link broken, Ororo cast wildly about. She didn't know the girl and what glimpses she received confused and terrified her, but it was only a child- lost and alone. A child who'd given up hope. A terrible thing.

'Where are you? Let me help you!' she pleaded, panickedly.

'Ororo! Are you alright?'

'Don't worry Ms Munroe- Mr McCoy is on his way up. Who were you calling to?'

Her desperate call had not gone unheard. Jean and Xavier, both telepaths, had answered...and, somewhere, that tiny, fading presence gleamed slightly, like a minnow disappearing into murky water. Storm came back to herself. The small rain cloud she had conjured to water her precious plants was now a small, raging storm, confined within the attic. With a shaking hand, she swept it away and it dispersed, just as Jean ran in, closely trailed by Hank.

The blue doctor took one look at Storm, pale and shaking, and whisked her off her feet to the Medilab. Storm, regaining her regal and serene manner, if a bit sharp, demanding to be released. Released immediately. But Hank, official monarch of the Medilab, had a rule: _if you can't walk into the Medilab, then you certainly can't walk out._

"Shall I demonstrate my good health by flying out, Beast? I'd secure the beds and all the machinery down, since I am not allowed to _walk_ out. Must I remind you that I am not one of the children?" Storm had countered, perhaps a little scathingly; she did need to see the Professor, after all...she was shaken, yet determined.

The hulking doctor observed the indignant African queen mildly. Storm immediately regretted her outburst. She held no animosity towards the other, even if there'd always be an underlying tension between them.

"I am sorry, Hank," she sighed. "I really must see Charles. This hurt is not my own and no physic will heal it."

Hank smiled empathically.

"Well it is fortunate that Charles has just now entered the room, is it not?"

Storm turned, snowy white hair whipping around her face, to turn Xavier.

"I believe now is the right time to discuss those problems, Ororo," Charles Xavier stated gravely.

"I am sorry," Storm said, hanging her head down, so that her long white hair hung down. "I should have consulted you earlier, rather than waiting."

"Now is not the time for regrets, Ororo. Something is wrong. Tell me."

"I've been getting the oddest feeling lately…my emotions will dip and soar for no reasons. And I have…thoughts- thoughts of things I know not."

Xavier was silent. Storm stared at the floor, eyes wide, as the images from her latest vision spiralled in her mind. If he had chosen to, Xavier could have read her mind like an open book. He refrained from doing so.

"And memories. Memories so vivid that it as if I am there living them. And, indeed, it is me in these memories. Yet...."

Storm's tone intensified.

"But these thought and memories. They don't belong to me. I did not manifest them, nor did I manifest the voice who speaks from outside my body to me."

She laughed suddenly, more desperate than melodic, a rare display of her disconcert.

"You must think me touched, Charles!"

Charles cocked his head, honing in on one particular thought of his own devising. The pieces met and fell together neatly.

"Touched, yes…but not by madness, but another mutant," he said conclusively.

"A telepath?" Storm asked, speculatively. "Someone like Mesmero, trying to manipulate my memories or drive me mad?"

"No. While Dr Moira's studies have concluded that no two mutants have the exact powers, there are places where are abilities replicate...and, perhaps, a bond is found; for instance, Wolverine and Sabretooth...bonded not only by history, but the animal within them. Ororo, when did these problems start?"

"Not last week," Storm said, puzzled...but dawning understanding in her eyes.

"Indeed. In fact, I would hazard a guess that they began on Sunday evening, when we returned from New Orleans. Perhaps even a little earlier."

Something in Xavier's mind clicked. His periwinkle eyes shone.

"The freak winds…the message I sent to the girl. Of course…"

His eyes widened in sudden understanding.

"A conduit."

He wheeled over to Storm's side.

"I communicated to her and found you. You are acting as a conduit, somehow bonded by your akin powers. The control of the very forces of nature. And, if I can reach you through her, I can reach her through you."

Storm understood now. She closed her eyes and bowed her head, pre-empting the Professor's request. She brushed her long hair back from her temples; across the Medilab, Hank was humming under his breath, determinedly busying himself with small tube and vials.

"You may do it," she said quietly.

Xavier was shocked by her trust. Storm was an exceedingly private woman and to allow him to invade her mind was really quite a large thing. But, if anyone was sure of her own mind, it was her.

"Are you sure?" he said, preparing his barriers and hesitantly probing at Storm's own. He wheeled a little closer, raising his hands as Storm bowed a little lower. His fingers gently alighted on either side of her face.

'Yes, I'm ready,' she thought, so the Professor could hear.

'Relax…' he said, merging into her mind.

It was dark, so dark. But, somehow, the sky was beautiful and held the promise of rain and sunshine and moonlight and gale at the same time. Storm's mind, like her powers, was as unpredictable and wild as nature. Behind him and as part of him, he could feel Storm's presence, maintaining a steady hand on his shoulder, lest he be whipped away by the wind. He floated there, bereft of the confines of his own crippled body.

"Where are you?" he called out. "Please come out…"

The voice echoed and faded into nothing. But, far away, a glimmer of recognition.

"No…" the merest breath of thought, so quiet and surprisingly bitter that it seemed to disappear the moment it began. It served to strengthen the bond, as he honed in on that presence

"You are there," Professor Xavier said, firmly, forcing her into being.

"No, I'm not," Celeste stated, just as firmly, but it was too late.

His voice called to her and her response brought her there. She materialised before him and looked up into the sky, then back at him. Her form was insubstantial, flashes of pale skin, dark hair and fey, cloudy eyes.

"You found me," she said sadly.

* * *

**Frayed90:** There y'all go. To summarise, a few flashbacks from Celeste's past in New Orleans, a connection forged between her and Storm and Xavier locates her. In the next chapter? R&R, ladies and gents. R&R.


	3. Chapter 3: Release

**Frayed****:** Tis me again! Anyway, I've felt a renewed wave of affection for Jean...sure, she comes off as being a preppy bitch, but perhaps I made her a little too shallow. I'll give her some depth now. Anyway, this chapter beckons!

(o0)

**Chapter Three: Release**

"You found me."

Those words reverberated with immeasurable regret and sadness- yet, at the same time, there was a tiny flicker of hope now; a longing for acknowledgement, that someone would help, someone would once more put faith in her and recognise her as being human. In truth, she had been recognised as something more than human – _mutant_.

"Y'don't deserve help, y'filthy traitor," a voice echoed in her mind; it was Bella's voice, Julien's voice- her own voice.

'Heed not the voices of the mind,' Storm ordered- her voice authorative and soothing. 'For what crime you punish yourself thus, child, you have yet a lifetime of redemption.'

'Who says I want redemption?' Celeste replied, her presence and awareness withdrawing from the weather witch's mind, as gentle as an evening breeze, drawing a cloak of misty darkness to cover herself. 'Not everyone deserves a second chance…'

Storm found herself once more, deluged by dark, brooding thoughts. However, these were all of her own making. Charles' presence was still there, silently observing the girl's withdrawal. And now he, too, retained a small fragment of awareness with her, a tentative, telepathic tendril that stretched across the abyss. Not much to go by, but just enough that the man could amplify his powers and Cerebro could locate her. Charles followed suit, his presence retreating and returning to his crippled, physical body.

"Ororo," he said sharply, opening keen, blue eyes and seeing the woman still lost in her thoughts, normally serene brow furrowed by concern. Storm's eyes opened and she finally breathed.

"She's real," she murmured, casting her eyes to the steel floor of the Medilab. "All this time, she's been real. I don't understand how we could have missed her in New Orleans."

"Oh, she's very real," Charles mused, a new note in his voice, as if the location of the girl had renewed some well of hope within him too. "But if we can assume her powers are elemental, then she may not have had corporeal form at the time. It wouldn't be so unusual, especially if she can't deactivate her powers."

"I think the trouble may be that she chooses not to...or that she's made no effort to," Storm replied gravely. "What shall we do? She is obviously deeply troubled and wanders aimlessly, entrenched in her own powers…she desires the oblivion of her powers."

Somewhere in the link, Celeste's awareness swelled and there was a reverberation in the link. There was a slight twinge, which caused Storm to flinch in surprise. The bitterness there virtually held the words, "I'll say!" And the African woman's heart bled that a girl – no, a young woman – could feel so little joy in life, in living.

Charles grimaced in sympathy.

"I could, with your consent, block her presence from your mind. If her thoughts continue to intrude, she may cause further problems. A mental block, perhaps- like Rogue's. Your mind will remain your own. The girl shows no inclination to assist in her own rescue and, if she does not want help, her presence in your thoughts may indeed be a blockade to our efforts."

Storm gazed at Xavier, aghast. He would encourage her to block the presence of a child- a child in need- from her mind. Rogue had spoken of that block- how the psyches riled at their imprisonment and begged for release. Though the subject of their discussion was certainly in no mind for company, it seemed almost cruel to even harbour that thought.

"Perhaps," she said demurely, a touch of frost to her voice, "after we rescue her. But not until then."

There was an unspoken decision in those words and Charles felt it. Of course, he'd send the team out to try to locate her. But Ororo's poltergeist would be difficult enough to find, let alone adopt. He would not see his team, their home, torn asunder once more. Too many things had happened – the destruction of the mansion, Apocalypse...the burgeoning threat of the sentinels. But, while he feared for his children, his faith held firm.

"Will you accompany me to Cerebro?" Xavier said, lightly. "I believe Jean and I will have some work to do."

(0o)

Jean closed the text book...after a day at the college in Bayville's outskirts, she could feel a headache coming on, a swelling wave that she wished she could block. She collapsed onto her bed, wincing as her back twinged uncomfortably. Ouch. She needed a break...maybe she'd go stalk about and ensure the younger students were focussing on their homework. A little hypocritical, but it'd make her feel better.

'Jean,' a voice quietly spoke from beyond her mind and the auburn-haired beauty quickly sat up. 'Jean, there's a mission. The mutant from New Orleans has been located. Her situation...it's unique. The whole team will not be involved in this rescue mission…only you, Kurt, Robert, Logan and Storm are to come to the briefing. They've already been informed.'

'Isn't Bobby a little inexperienced to be going on missions?' Jean queried. Bobby was hard to handle, even without bringing his icy powers into the picture.

'He has proved himself,' was the guarded reply.

'Of course, Professor,' Jean replied quickly, voice dripping with unquestioning respect, quickly quashing any ill feelings. She supposed Bobby would be fully inducted to the team any day now.

She shook her head, raising a hand and coaxing her hairbrush from its dresser to her. The X-Men were getting younger and younger these days...next thing they'd have Jubilee running around in spandex. She'd like that... Jean ran the brush through her silken fall of crimson hair, tilting her head in such a way that she knew the light would catch its burnished highlights and set them aglow. Hey- if you were off saving the world, one mutant and a time, you had to look your best!

She changed into her uniform, cursing the spandex, which clung, almost stickily, to her skin, while admiring the way it held to her curves, emphasising her willowy form. Stepping out into the empty hall, she turned out of the teachers' wing (where she and Scott now claimed a spot) and headed through the students' corridors.

"Scott!" she called out, catching a glimpse of him, as he paused outside one of the student's rooms; a brief scan revealed it to be Rogue's room and she quickly withdrew her mind, meeting the firm blockade of the other girl's shields.

"Jean? Do we have a mission?" Scott quickly bit out, straightening his body, going into his Mighty Leader mode that made Jean struggle between laughter and snapping her feet together and executing a sharp salute.

"The Professor didn't inform you?" Jean said in slight surprise, a small, pleased smile touching the corner of her lips. "Don't worry- it's only a rescue mission…that mutant, who we were looking for in New Orleans…nothing huge."

"New Orleans...." Scott echoed, wondering why he hadn't been informed, but deciding not to probe. 'The Professor knows best,' he told himself loyally.

'Of course he does,' Jean sent with a dazzling smile, before sidling past the brunette, as he stepped out her path.

As she walked down the hall, she paused and turned her head slightly, flicking her auburn locks over her shoulder and catching Scott's hidden gaze.

"Oh, sorry Scott; you'll have to take a raincheque on helping the kids with that little study-group of theirs tonight. See ya."

"See ya, Jeanie," he said, turning in the opposite direction.

"Kurt and Bobby are headed out too…" a voice drawled from the doorway he has just left.

"Huh?" Scott said in confusion, turning back.

"Kurt and Bobby are going on the mission too," Rogue drawled, raising an eyebrow at Scott's lack of guile. "Ya knocked?"

Rogue was standing in the doorway, leaning on the doorframe. In her gloved hands she held a third glove. It was a strange one: specially-tailored for a large, three fingered hand. Of course, before Jean had called out to him, he had been going to tell Rogue something. And, of course, Rogue would have heard the whole conversation, through no fault of her own.

"Yeah," Scott said, face colouring slightly, as he ran his hand through his short hair embarrassedly, "Ummm…I was just coming up to let you know that you didn't have to help with the New Recruits' study group tonight, but, seeing as we've had a late pullout, I guess it's still on."

"Sure, Cyc…" she said, with a hint of a mocking smile. "Ah guess."

She made as if to shut the door, but Scott quickly planted his hand on the door.

"How do you know that they're going on the mission?" he asked curiously.

The answer was made clear- when a cloud of sulphur-reeking smoke manifested itself, with a loud 'bamf'. Kurt's trademark entrance. He shook his head, clearing a space of less-clouded air.

"Mein freur, have you seen a uniform glove?" he said, waggling large blue (bare) fingers in Rogue's direction and ignoring Scott. "Mees Perfect Redhead vill kill me if I'm late."

"Sure, sugah," Rogue said, brandishing the glove she held in her hand, a rare, gentle smile touching her lips. "Y'all be careful now, 'kay?"

"Da," Kurt agreed, bamfing to the underground hangar, now in full uniform.

Scott looked mutely at the spot, where Kurt has been. He knew that Rogue, perhaps, had been a little jealous- even resentful- of Jean, but he didn't know that there seemed to be an Anti-Jean streak in the X-Men.

"Jeez, Cyc- relax," Rogue said, rolling her eyes and slamming the door shut.

Scott stood a moment, staring at the closed door. He'd always known Rogue (well, since she'd joined the X-Men) to almost go out of her way to avoid him- let alone talk like that to him. He scowled to himself. He wondered where she'd gone in February- other than to New Orleans with Gambit…what had happened there? Not that he could fault the new, bolder Rogue.

"Wow!" came a voice, from around his feet.

Scott looked down, seeing Kitty Pryde's body phase through the ground at his feet. She grinned sheepishly at him, as her feet pulled through the carpet, but she still stood a good two heads below him in height.

"Hey Scott!" she greeted him perkily, then ran straight through him and the door.

Scott stared at the door for a moment, almost jealously, knowing he wasn't welcome there. Sure, he hadn't reciprocated Rogue's attentions, when she'd obviously been crushing on him, but now, he was almost jealous of Kitty's familiarity with her. Suddenly, he felt very lonely, standing in that dark hallway. There was a murmured comment in the room, followed by a loud, husky laugh.

"Yeah, Kit, Jean walked past him and Cyc didn't know what hit'm!"

Scott sighed heavily; maybe he should give up on Jean…sure, she wasn't with Duncan anymore, but she hadn't shown much interest in him lately. His thoughts were interrupted, as the pounding of footsteps thundered towards him. Jubilee and Jaime, New Recruits, ran to the window at the end of the hall.

"Man, that's totally crazy!" Jubilee exclaimed.

"Yeah- we were just playing basketball down there!" young Jaime agreed.

Past their heads, Scott saw the Blackbird flicker in and out of sight, as it moved into stealth mode and disappeared into the darkening sky. It was surprisingly soundless.

Inside, on the other hand, it was surprisingly loud.

"Iceman calling Nightcrawler. Repeat: Iceman calling Nightcrawler. Out."

"Nightcrawler in. Vhat's up, Iceman? Out."

Yes, it was Bobby's first, official mission and he was excited. His partner in pranking crime, Kurt, was equally thrilled at the prospect. Jean, Storm and Wolverine, didn't seem to share their animation, especially since Xavier's novel idea of providing each member of the team with a head piece, so that all messages were sent, direct-feed, straight to everyone's ears. No, it didn't seem to matter that they had a telepath, who could fulfil that exact same function- but, still, the younger mutants seem to enjoy them. Said telepath seethed silently.

Wolverine ground his teeth and Storm, sitting right next to him and recognising the signs, thanked the gods that the man hadn't had adamantium grafted to his teeth. Wolverine, however, was still perfectly capable of tearing out the kids' throats, if they didn't shut up- he had long since 'removed' his own head piece, which- now a disconsolate piece of crushed metal and wiring- now lay somewhere outside the ship.

"Nightcrawler calling Storm. Nightcrawler calling Storm. Distance to target requested. Out."

"Kurt, we are almost there and I would ask that you remain silent. The new mutant is extremely unstable and we do not want to do anything to further aggravate her," Storm said rather briskly, to Jean's gratitude. "Storm out," she finished, with a helpless smile, almost tolerantly.

Despite the softening of their remonstration, the two teenage mutants were instantly silent; they may have goofed off when they should have been studying, they occasionally feigned illness and injury to get out of Danger Room, but they would never do anything to put their mission in jeopardy. Such was the sigma that was attached to the X-Men; it was a sign of belonging and purpose. It was that, which drew and held loners, like Wolverine, and those, who feared closeness, like Rogue, to the Institute. It was that same purpose that had captured Storm's spirit and bound the weather goddess to that place. Storm only hoped that the mutant they sought would assume that dream too…if they could indeed coax her back into the real world.

Her eyes drifted to the scanner, whose technology (courtesy of Forge) had been altered, so that it could follow co-ordinates provided by Cerebro. They weren't far. Apparently, the almost astral body of the girl was caught in a cyclone circle, which was threatening to break, just offshore of a remote north-western shore. The Blackbird shot past the coastline and shook slightly, bouncing in the turbulent winds. Far below them, the water formed huge peaks, which clashed against one another, sending salt spray into the sky. It was dusk now, and the last of the light captured the scene in dramatic shades of grey and ever-deepening, living greens and blues.

"Stormy weather," Logan observed ironically, looking sidelong at Storm. "Sure ya know what ya doing, 'Ro?"

"Should I be worrying about the weather?" Storm countered. She directed her next statement to Bobby. "I'm sorry, Bobby, but you will have to remain in the plane; this is too dangerous. Jean, you will accompany me."

Storm's eyes reflected the clouded sky outside the jet, and the turbulence that affected the aircraft somewhat lessened as the winds were averted. The cyclone was too large to simply banish without consequence.

"I'll circle 'round," Wolverine offered. "If you or Red got a problem, I'll send Elf here to haul ya outta there."

A hatch opened in the roof of the Blackbird and Jean levitated herself out, as Storm flew out. In the cold air, above the rushing sea, Jean began to shake, before erecting a telekinetic ball around her, to hold out the wind and cold. This adverse weather, of course, did not affect Storm in the slightest. Her white mane became a dazzling halo in the twilight scenery, as she dropped altitude, to hover some ten metres above the sea. Jean joined her.

'I was briefed by the Professor,' Jean sent to Storm, 'but I am still not exactly sure, where this mutant is.'

'She is here,' Storm replied simply.

'M'here…' a thought floated through Storm's mind, which was further connected to Jean's telepathic link. A gasp escaped Jean's lips, as she felt a shifting presence wrap around Storm's figure, then curling around her telekinetic ball. The presence did that a couple of times, as if searching for a breach and finding none.

'Who's da beach ball?' Celeste asked, almost scornfully, location dissipating as a heavy gust of wind tore her presence into a million air particles that swirled effortlessly to brush the surface of the water and whirl around them.

"She- she's everywhere!" Jean yelled out, turning in the air, somewhat put off by the beach ball comment. Her eyes could not detect a trace of the stray mutant, but her powers told her that the girl was currently in the strong eddies of air above the waves.

"She's in the air! She's the wind! Find her with your powers!" Storm called out, as lightning burnt across the clouds, flashing violently.

Jean scanned the sky, with her telepathy. There- no there! There was the presence, which whipped around. Its physical form was ever-moving and insubstantial, but there was no doubt that there was a presence there. Jean had to still her.

'Stop moving,' she ordered, tracing the link between Storm and the girl.

'Oui…tell me how, beach ball?' was the retorted thought, not directed at Jean, but picked up nonetheless.

Well, Storm had told her to use her powers.

Concentrating on the frenzied wisp of air, which was the girl, Jean tried to force it into a shape. Celeste didn't like that. She didn't like being crushed in the fist of some invisible power, which sought to mould you into a more desirable shape. No, Celeste did _not_ like that at all.

She struggled and Jean gave a panicked cry as her concentration was broken as the force of a hurricane broke out from that fistful of air. As Celeste felt the iron grip loosen, she lashed out. The speed was incredible; the power, admirable. Jean felt the presence rushing towards her and, as it neared, a line- like a thin, white razor, appeared in the air. It struck Jean's telekinetic bubble, pushing at it, as Jean sought to reinforce it. Fear overcame Jean and the walls fell and the wind hit her, cutting through the spandex at her midriff and cutting shallowly into her skin, before fading past her to battle the force of the high winds as her telekinesis wavered and she fell.

'Mon Dieu…m'sorry, m'sorry, m'sorry…' the frenzied voice of the girl cried out in Storm's mind, distress touching Storm, too.

"Jean!" she cried, swooping low to catch her, before she hit the water.

Before she reached her, however, a column of air rose, straight into the air, catching and cradling the swooning redhead. It was almost eerie. The unconscious Jean couldn't hold herself steady and the wind seemed to rock her gently, as the pillar of wind, rushing upwards, sought to keep her safe.

'M'sorry, m'sorry…' the voice still murmured, drowned out by Celeste's own concentration.

To Celeste's immense surprise, her burden became heavy then entirely disappeared; somewhere, within the scope of her powers, she felt a rush of heated air, which rapidly disappeared, as molecules of some substance petered away. In Storm's eyes, Kurt had just teleported onto that cradle of stillness then ported Jean back to the ship.

It was just her and the weather witch alone now and Storm threw out a hand, her own powers calling out to Celeste. The winds changed and she felt an inexorable pull. Somewhere in her mind, a young Celeste closed grey eyes as she took her mother's hand and smiled. Abruptly, she was torn back into reality and the woman's voice was terrible as the storm.

'Change back now! Remember your body and what it was like to be human!' Storm cried, as the wind was whipped to a frenzy; the cyclone was becoming worse.

Celeste's mind paused and, for a moment, she was still. Now was her chance. Would she take it?

_--Flashback--_

_Two teenagers stood on a bridge. They didn't know each other; or, perhaps, they simply ignored one another. Each seemed to be focussed on the water that rushed under that stone bridge, bringing the dirty, wet, magical and spicy scent of the New Orleans' waterfront with it. Celeste watched the water flowing, imagining that the water drew her reflection along with it to meet her secret lover's._

"_Bonjour, Celeste," the boy murmured, as if to himself, but Celeste was listening._

" '_Lo, Eti," Celeste murmured back, focussing on the water below her._

"_Ya didn't come to da park, last night…" Etienne whispered, questions unasked, but not unheard._

"_I had a job," Celeste replied, uncomfortably- she didn't like speaking about Guild matters; neither of them did._

"…_and?" Etienne queried, a hint of a sad smile playing on his face. "What else?"_

_Celeste stiffened and didn't reply immediately. A rather distressed-seeming woman crossed the bridge, dragging a yelling and wailing toddler by the hand and pausing, now and then, to readjust her hold on his hand and try to coax the young boy into silence. She had no attention to spare for the young man on one side of the bridge, or the silent girl on the other._

"_Do dey know 'bout me?" Celeste asked suddenly._

_Etienne knew that she meant the Thieves Guild. He turned his head slightly to the side, the corner of his eyes catching the barest glimpse of her back...straight as a blade, hands tight-gripped on the side of the bridge._

"_They know dat I'm seeing a belle fille…Tante Mattie says dat I go all silent, when I'm tinking about her and says dat da girl is a Godsend. They tink that the girl is a thief, but…or a ghost. Jean-Luc still wonders how she got in t'da Thieves Guild t'drop off mon birthday present…Theo tinks dat she doesn't exist; that ya just one of my dreams…and ya are. But I like them t'think that it's just a think dat it's a thief…"_

_Celeste now had a smile on her face, as Etienne has spoken so sweetly._

"_Why?" she purred in reply._

"_Because I still think dat she might come over one day…"_

_These words bit Celeste as sharply as glass and something inside her clenched tight in bitter pain, knowing that – no matter what she felt for him – such a future was not one for them. There was no happy ending for the thief and the assassin girl...but Etienne, for all his cool demeanour, was a great believer of fairytales._

"_And I wanted t'ask again…will ya?" Etienne continued, voice hopeful._

"_It's not that easy…not f'you and me, Etienne."_

"_Everyone d'serves a secon' chance," Etienne protested._

_Celeste turned casually, as if observing the distant buildings on the bayou._

"_It will be easier soon," she conceded._

"_Y' actually think dat Belle and y'Prince of Thieves're gonna work?" Etienne said, voice sceptical, but still, for him, hope prevailed._

"_Y' think we're gonna work out?" Celeste's said simply, now looking directly at Etienne._

_Etienne stood and stretched casually, as if heading home. Instead, he turned to meet Celeste's gaze directly and then walked to stand before her. He touched her hair gently and reassuringly, as her eyes widened in panic, lest someone spot the two together._

"_Course we are. Adieu, mon ange, Celeste."_

_Celeste had stayed at the bridge until the sun had set, fingering that lock of hair Etienne had playfully tugged, before he bid her adieu. Finding resolve, she smiled and headed back to the Assassins Guild. Maybe things would be better…after the alliance, anyway._

_--End Flashback--_

Etienne was dead, but Celeste wasn't. Etienne had not saved her, to fade into obscurity. She couldn't let herself fade, when she had that much to live for. She was offered a second chance at life outside the guilds and she would seize it. Etienne would have wanted that…

Fuelled by this new rush of heat, Celeste seized the flagging particles of air that was her body and held them together. Recapturing the feeling of cold, of heat, of windy days in the Big Easy and humid days on the streets, of warm arms wrapping around her body and pulling her close…she changed. For a moment, she did feel the cold and a sensation of falling…she was unconscious before she hit the water, which dragged at her with a hungry grip…she never registered the strong hands that seized her wrist and ported her from the water…

Bleary eyes opened to glaring white light as she coughed brine from water-logged lungs, her throat burning. Before she could thank the person, who breathed for her, blissful darkness claimed her. Her last conscious thought was registered by Jean and Storm.

'_Êtes-vous heureux maintenant, Etienne ?'_

(/\)

**Frayed:** There ya go. Enjoy!

**Translations:**

_Êtes-vous heureux maintenant, Etienne ? _"Are you happy now, Etienne?"


	4. Chapter 4: Ain't No Doctor

**Frayed**: Alright – let's hit up Chapter Four! The problem I find with a lot of OC-centric fictions is that they're...well, _too_ OC-centric. Not much from our girl in this chapter, but I like to set the tone for the fiction and play with the characters a little.

(0o)

There was a billow of fragrant steam, as one freshly-shampooed and thoroughly exhausted Kurt exited the bathroom, a plastic bottle clutched secretively to his side. A 'joking' gift of pet shampoo from Rogue, recommended none other than the house doctor and fellow fuzzy-man. Kurt glanced across the miles that spanned the short distance between the bathroom and his room, a fierce debate raging in his mind. No – it'd be nice to fall asleep without reeking of interdimensional sulphur.

The door slammed shut behind him, an unwise move, but he was beyond the point of concern as he dragged heavy feet to the mattress and fell lazily onto the bed. For a moment, he lay there lethargically, before a flexible tail slowly pulled sheets over his towel-clad body and he closed his eyes with a sigh of contentment. Five hours from now, he'd be waking up to greet the team members that had remained behind, as they left Danger Room.

If only he could be that lucky. Despite his exhaustion, he couldn't fall straight to sleep, images of the mission flashing through his exhausted mind.

Rescue successful – damages minimal. Personally, Kurt didn't really view the shallow slash across Jean's midriff as anything particularly worrying. He hadn't noticed the real fear that had touched Jean, how much worse the injury would have been, had the leader not had her barrier up.

Over the water, the cyclone had blown furiously, blinding the eyes as icy droplets curtained the roiling water. Kurt hadn't seen the moment of transformation, when invisible air particles whipped together, forming flesh and fabric. He'd merely seen a slip of girl falling through the air and slipping into the water's welcoming embrace, as he let go of the rattled Jean and once more glued his eyes to the window, awaiting his next summons. And, when Storm hovered uncertainly in the water, he'd braced himself and ported just above the water, lithe body twisting to dive deep into the waves.

"You know you can't, 'Ro," Logan had muttered angrily, just as Kurt had ported out of the ship. "Elf – go!" he'd ordered, turning back and seeing only Bobby, looking anxiously out one of the windows, a sodden Jean disconsolately pressing a swathe of gauze across her stomach.

As Kurt was swallowed by the ocean, he realised why Storm hadn't been the one to dive. The ocean hungrily pulled at him, the pressure building in his ears as if he'd indeed been captured in some great captures maw and was slowly being crushed. Limbs had flailed and luck had prevailed. Groping hands found a lax wrist and pulled the girl close and, lungs screaming for air, he'd ported back to the ship. Storm trailed, alighting on the ramp and falling to his knees by the girl. Logan deigned to shoot a dark-eyed glance back, as he turned the ship for home.

"Christ," he'd sworn quietly, before turning away, assured that Storm and Jean could control the situation.

The girl was on the lesser half of half-naked- soaked, black lace clinging to her breasts and hugging her slender hips. Bobby had merely stared for a moment, light blue eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. But the girl's chest didn't rise and fall.

Without instruction, his hands ran quickly over her body, assessing her pulse and breathing – or lack thereof. A strong, sure movement as he turned her body to the side, spilling the water from her blue-tinged lips, before he breathed for her. Scarce a minute in, the girl's body had seized and she'd coughed up water, moaned softly and lapsed back into unconsciousness.

The stranger was immediately enfolded in Storm's own cloak, as Storm gathered the icy girl close to her, relief written on her features as the girl warmed up – and then, indeed, began to burn with fever. And then crimson began to leak through the silvery cloth of her cape and, tearing it back, a neat wound was revealed, heated blood tracking across wet flesh.

Kurt had been scared…he had never watched someone die.

Kurt opened his eyes slowly then gave an involuntary shiver. He'd be having nightmares about the dark water that sought to consume him whole and blood on ivory-skinned girls…the clock now read ten past two. Kurt should have fallen asleep by now, by all rights. He worried about the girl. By last report, she had been stable.

"Elf. Medilab," Wolverine had tersely ordered, the minute they reached home.

This was not a direction for the sniffling mutant to grab a cough drop then hop along to bed. A moment later and in a puff of sulphur, he gently layed the shaking girl on one of the sterile mattresses in the Medilab. As Kurt had retreated, her eyes had opened into a narrow sliver of gray, sharpening to a glare that almost had the porter fleeing right there and then.

"Leave me alone, Benoit," she had said, clearly and lucidly, before she weakly raised a pale hand to bat at him.

"Okay, I'm leaving you alone, frauline. Da?" he had surrendered as her head lolled back, barely noting the surroundings and fixing on something else entirely, as Kurt alerted Mr McCoy to their arrival.

"M'sorry…thought you were someone else," she murmured, gazing blearily past Kurt, as the hulking doctor approached, her gaze somewhat suspicious but not entirely surprised.

She had closed her eyes after that, possibly as a result of the clear serum that the silent doctor had injected into her. Kurt hovered nearby, watching the doctor tend to the girl. Every now and then, Hank would smile at the young mutant reassuringly. The only moment, when his face had betrayed any emotion, other than calm capability, was when he removed Storm's blood-stained cloak to reveal the small wound. His eyes had widened and he had bared his sharp teeth slightly, furred lips raising like an angered dog's hackles, and he'd exhaled sharply.

"Kurt, you'd better go. We can't have you sick too," he'd said gravely, gesturing towards the door.

"Is zhe girl, alright?" Kurt had asked worriedly, still hovering nearby.

"Best go now, Kurt," Mr McCoy had said, turning his back, uncharacteristically, on him. "There is nothing you can do here and undoubtedly the Professor and Scott should like to hear your report. Tell them the girl has a fever, but her condition is stable."

So Kurt had reported and returned to his room for a shower and to sink into his soft bed. Kurt's eyes closed and he drew the sheet over his head, sprawling on the mattress. Everything slowly darkened and all was blessedly silent.

And then someone flicked on Kurt's light. Kurt squeezed his eyes shut, feeling dread about to overcome him. Surely…not here…not now…anything. He whispered a silent prayer, but – no! Too late!

"Thought you'd get away, huh Kurt? Too bad…get up and spill!"

"No Kitty…go away…it can wait till morning," Kurt replied plaintively to his pillow, determinedly closing his eyes and trying to will the girl away.

"Hey, I've been up all night too and it's morning now!" Kitty replied indignantly.

Kurt moaned and drew his knees up to his chest, putting a pillow over his head. Suddenly, cold air was flowing over Kurt's fuzzy body. Kitty held his blanket in her perfectly-manicured hands.

"Oh, wow, Kurt!" Kitty yelped, lifting the blanket to cover her eyes, as if she'd never seen a guy in just a towel.

"It's two thirty in the morning," Kurt yelped, diving off the bed, before scrounging in his cupboard for a clean set of boxers. "I vasn't expecting company."

He pulled on a set of black boxers and a dark baggy shirt over his head. For an awkward moment, he bent backwards, siphoning his tail through the small hole, artfully cut in the back of all of his pants. He jumped back into bed, hoping that the incident had scared Kitty away. As Kurt pulled the cover over his head, Kitty walked over to the door and switched off his light. Kurt closed his eyes again, not alarmed that he did not hear the door slam close- after all, when did he ever use the door? Kitty probably just phased into her and Rogue's room and landed on her bed- their rooms was right under his. Kurt's eyes flicked open again, glowing yellow in the darkness.

"Don't you dare," Kurt warned the seemingly-empty room. It was quiet. "Too quiet," he murmured.

There was no response, not even a muffled giggle. Evidently, Kitty had left for the night. Sighing in relief, he put his head back down, turning it to check the clock: quarter till three. He faced the ceiling, but there was something in the way. Kitty's body, like some bizarre trophy animal from a hunting trip, protruded from the wall, from the waist up.

"You forced me, Kurt," she said, smirking triumphantly.

She lunged for him and, before Kurt could port out of her grasp, was phased through the floor of his room. There was a sensation of falling, as Kitty released him and he landed with a dull thump on a bed. No, two beds. He'd fallen into a neat trap, as Shadowcat had pushed her and Rogue's beds together, directly beneath his. He sat up, eyes adjusting to the semi-darkness of the girls' lair- strange pink-rimmed shadows fell over the walls, from where Kitty's Care Bear lamp (the pink one) glowed eerily.

"You know I can do that all night," a sweet voice said, from nearby. "Now, you'll tell me what went on during that mission, why Jean's so pissed off and what the hell has Bobby so happy. Or you shall never return to your room again."

"Kitty- you're telling you kept me up till three o'clock in the mornin' just for gossip!" came Rogue's outraged exclamation, as she loomed from the pink-tinged darkness, from where she'd been leaning against the wall- in a half-sleeping stupor- for the last four hours.

Kitty removed the pink lampshade from the Care Bear light, bathing the room in a warming orange. In this brighter light, she posed dramatically, launching into her spiel. For someone so short and petite, she cut an intimidating figure- slender legs squared, hands on her waist and a long strand of dark hair falling across her flashing eyes as she focussed her glare on her roommate.

"Rogue, you know how Jean is. First thing in the morning, she'll be dropping hints about the mission- snide little comments about how _she_ was chosen and we were left behind! Do you really want her lording that over us! This is not gossip! This is not for me- this is for the team!"

The solemnity of this speech was entirely broken when Rogue snorted suddenly, and Kitty, catching on, pulled her hair from her pony tail, so she could flick her hair in a very Jean Grey-like way. She glared daggers at Rogue, then grabbed Kurt by the sleeve.

"I can't believe you guys!" Kitty said in mock-anger. "Come on Scott- let's go suck up to the Professor!"

Rogue burst into laughter and even Kurt had to smile. Kitty giggled in triumph- she'd proved her point. Sure, Jean could lead the team, but gosh she loved that fact. And every other little thing about herself.

"So, Kurt- tell us what happened on the mission," she said, pushing her advantage, before the grin had faded from the other's lips.

"Nein," Kurt said, wearily. "Keety it is late enough to be early! Logan's probably patrolling. He'll punish _me_ for being in _your_ room."

Kitty exchanged a meaningful glance with Rogue. A azure-eyed gaze locking to a frosty, green one, a brief battle of wills occurring. It was the pale Southern girl who gave. Rogue, rolling her eyes, complied.

"Kurt," she said softly, looking at him with dewy eyes. "Please." For good measure, she added a sly titbit for him. "Frere?"

Kurt melted on the spot, overcome with affection for what was effectively the sibling bond…despite being bonded through the dubious motherly love of one Mystique. Mystique, who, after being reawakened in a greatly weakened state by Rogue, was locked in stasis in the same facility as Juggernaut, under military guardianship. But it could have been worse. Rogue could have knocked her off a cliff...

"Alright…" Kurt said, throwing up his hands in mock exasperation. "I'll tell you vhat I know…"

(o0)

Dr Hank McCoy- perhaps, also known as Beast- stepped outside to be greeted by the not-so-friendly sight of one Wolverine, leaning against the steely wall of the corridor. His well-muscled arms were crossed across his chest. The mutant had appeared lost in thought, but the eyes that flickered up to those of the doctor were very much alert.

"You'd better not be thinking of lighting that," the doctor said sharply, to the much smaller (but equally intimidating) man.

With a scowl, which did not illicit so much as a flinch from the hulking doctor, Logan returned the cigar he had been absentmindedly chewing to his jeans.

"How's the kid?" he queried gruffly.

Beast tilted his head slightly. The girl was fine. He had suspected that she might receive hypothermia from the cold water and the icy air, but she had seemed to have weathered that quite well- perhaps, part of her mutation protected her from the air temperature. He'd taken her readings....the girl must have been under considerable stress and the doctor had yet to ascertain whether that was the result of her lifestyle or the awakening of her mutation. Blood pressure was low, her iron count down and she was underweight. Shadows of exhaustion beneath her eyes. The other results, however, had been more disturbing. Particularly the wound on her chest…

"Perhaps you'd better come upstairs," Beast suggested amiably. "She'll live, but I must discuss this matter with the rest of the staff…Why are you skulking down here anyway, Logan?"

Logan nodded, and then looked down either end of the hall. He sniffed the air, his keen senses plumbing the air for some hint.

"Iceboy's been sendin' the Kid to scope the place…I smell Firecracker in this too."

The Kid, of course, referred to their youngest recruit, Jaime- Multiple. Wolverine had chased him from the metal labyrinth of halls, underneath the mansion, any number of times. He was guarding the girl from Bobby, who would probably try and claim a proper 'kiss' from her..or whatever these damned kids did these days. Logan was pretty certain that they ran on hormones and soda. Logan had detected the slightly deepened voice of Bobby, moments before a plaintive Jaime was shoved out of the elevator with a joking farewell of 'God speed and good luck.'

"Oh, I see…" Beast said, unable to stop the slightest curve of amusement on his lips and the young mutants' antics. "Well, I'd expect the threat is probably over, so I'll see you upstairs shortly."

Logan cocked his head and gave him a meaningful look. A look which clearly questioned whether Beast truly thought Logan would obey him, having made up his mind to remain on guard.

"Or you could read the file, at the end of her bed," Beast said quickly, before fleeing upstairs away from the guard dog.

"Right," Logan said to himself sarcastically, before retrieving his chewed-on cigar from his pocket and entering the Medilab.

(o0)

Kitty twirled a strand of dark hair around her finger, chewing her lip thoughtfully. Kurt was nodding off, and Rogue was drowsing, lolling on Kitty's bed- a sheet shielding her skin from Kurt's.

"I've got it!" Kitty squealed excitedly, jolting the two out of their sleepy reverie.

"Got vot?" Kurt demanded, shaking his head and scattering blue fur over the girl's beds.

Kitty glared angrily.

"Kurt! It's bad enough that half my clothes are covered by blue fur, whenever you're on laundry duty- but, gosh, my bed!"

Rogue smiled drearily- Kitty was the only person she knew, under the age of thirty-five, who said 'gosh' on a regular basis. She furrowed her brow, sleepiness made her silly.

"Got vot?" she said, barely aware of mimicking Kurt's accent, remembering why she was still awake at half-past four in the morning.

Kitty jumped onto the end of the bed, teetering for a moment, before expertly regaining her balance. For a relatively clumsy computer nerd, it was a feat.

"I've got the plan, which will totally show up Grey!" she crowed. "Kurt- you're going to teleport us down there and we're going to meet the girl before everyone else! Jean will be so mad!"

"Nein, Keety. No way. Logan vill kill me," the protests tumbling thick and heavy.

"Fine," Kitty said, ever creative, pouting. "Give Rogue your powers and we'll dump you upstairs before we go."

"No, Kitty. Ah'm not draining Kurt. He's right. Logan will catch us. He's gonna be so mad that you're gonna be running DR till breakfast and then Ah'm gonna get up, drain your energy, so I can run DR," Rogue said dangerously.

"Guys…" Kitty begged, periwinkle blue eyes wide in an unvoiced appeal.

Kurt whispered something to Rogue, who nodded in agreement.

"Alright, Valley girl, we'll both come- only to hold this over Miss Perfect, right?" Rogue drawled, as she set the conditions.

"You guys are the greatest!" Kitty squealed excitedly, before sinking through the mattress, into her abnormally large and fluffy, pink slippers. "I swear- we'll only be in and out. Just introductions, okay?"

Kurt and Rogue could have been twins, as they exchanged equally evil smiles.

(o0)

Logan's breathing was steady and deep...he was vaguely aware of the sound of the monitors in the lab, the incoherent sound of adolescent voices somewhere far above, but he was drifting – almost unintentionally – into a meditative state. The sound of his heart beat was loud, getting louder and faster as he drifted into his subconscious. His tense muscles slowly relaxed, his shoulders slumping slightly, against the wall he'd so casually leaned upon to keep guard. And...pitch eyes shot open, as the smallest noise of a choked gasp tore him back to reality.

He stood, slowly rolled adamantium shoulders, the cracking of metal on metal echoing in the empty halls. Inside the Medilab, the lights had been dimmed to a dull, colourless twilight- but it was more than enough for the Wolverine.

Booted feet scuffed across metal tiles, as he stalked towards the entrance of the Medilab and punched in the code, glancing inside. The girl was comatose, dead to the world, but it had been the girl who had gasped. Her eyelashes flickered slightly, as dreams visited her sleeping mind unbidden. He could hear her increased heart rate, the slightest tendrils of fear through the air. Ah, a nightmare. Logan knew all about nightmares. His gaze turned from her and fell upon an open folder; left by Hank, of course.

"Celeste Doe," Logan read aloud, with a dour smile. Typical of the doctor…he never did like to leave an empty space. _Sex: Female, Age: Unknown, between 16-19._ Other than those few blanks, pertaining to her mysterious identity, it was quite a thorough report- he'd undoubtedly taken accounts of the party that had collected her.

_The ability to transform her body into sentient air particles at will. Manipulation of wind and air currents. Can form 'razor' winds, of lightning-speed winds, which can cut through solid objects.. Possible control of air temperature. Possible ability to travel at incredibly high speeds. A telepathic link with Ororo Monroe. Minor telepathy? Some form of elemental conduit?_

"That's a lot of potential, Hank," Logan mused, glancing over the folder at the girl...Celeste. Xavier was lucky that he'd snatched up this kid, before Magneto set his sights on her.

He turned the page idly, to be confronted by a close-up of a less than mysterious wound. Logan recognised this wound. Bullet. The slightly seared flesh, an angry red around the wound. Oddly, it did not gape wetly, the path of the bullet disappearing into her body in a killing shot. It simply entered...then stopped. That was surprising.

_The patient seems to have suffered from a gunshot to the chest; the heat and predicted force of the projectile would expect the bullet to pass through the chest and out of the body. It is unusual that the wound ended, mere centimetres from a probably fatal piercing of the heart or major arteries. Herein may lie the explanation for the bullet, found on the twenty-third of April, of the year 2005, on the bridge in New Orleans._ _Blood tests may confirm their relations._

What kind of an asshole shot a pretty girl like that? There were hundreds of thousands of candidates. Humanity had proved, time and time again, that it had no qualms about turning on its own – and once they'd marked mutants as a separate species altogether, it was only so long. There was no Charles Xavier to save every wayward mutant. Crimes against mutants, even infants, were daily occurrences. They railed against the mutant presence outside the White House; an upstart group, Friends of Humanity, was gaining supporters like the roaring juggernaut it was.

So entrenched in his thoughts, he did not note a stirring of the girl- a mere twitching of the fingers, a clenching fist driving nails into flesh.

_Bullets around her. Do something. Do something now. Evade them, turn and take them in the arm, stay still and go quickly into darkness. The bite of the bullet in the chest._

The fist unclenched and the girl whimpered slightly. Logan turned, dropping the folder beside him.

_The sensation of change. Falling apart. Lifting. Flying. Soaring. New Orleans as she had never seen it…the different planes that she touched with ethereal fingers. A soft, ethereal presence hushing away her panic and gently dismissing her. The storm. The clenching hand crushing her. Then…the change…she felt the icy wind and the sensation of falling once more. Wetness, fluid freezing her limbs, draw a breath of brine. All was black. She opened her eyes._

A sharp intake of breath was all the warning her watched had, as she lurched into an upright position. Immediately, white lights danced before her eyes and her vision blurred and spun, a heavy pressure beckoning her to unconsciousness once more. Celeste fought it back, sucking in deep, greedy breaths of sterile air. Once the world had stopped turning, she opened her eyes, observing her new surroundings.

Semi-darkness, lightly gleaming surfaces, the sterile smell of medical facilities. A man...a short, heavily-muscled man, whose gleaming eyes were watching her as carefully as she watched him, stormcloud eyes narrowed and wary. She shifted slightly, not removing her eyes from him. Her limbs felt sluggish and heavy. Celeste had to be quick to even think of escaping, but she was already feeling so weak and tired.

"Where am I?" she finally asked, her voice quiet and somewhat breathy, her accent something that might have once been Eastern European overlayed by a Cajun inflection. "Who are you?"

"You're safe, kid," Logan said, shifting a little awkwardly, but not making any move to approach the girl. He wasn't the best at being a comforting or reassuring figure. He didn't want to frighten the girl or anything. "You want water or anything?"

Celeste couldn't help but arch a brow slightly, the smallest hint of a smile touching the corner of her mouth. Alright then...the Assassins didn't have her. The girl had been worried for a second by the other's hulking physique, but seeing him milling about awkwardly allayed her fears.

"M'sorry doctor, I'm a bit confused," she said apologetically. "Water'd be good."

The man chuckled and stepped back from her and turned. He fiddled with something out of her sights and white lights began to hum and light the room.

(o0)

Kitty smothered a cough in the crook of her arm, as they ported into the dark room, some storeys beneath the mansion, in the usual accompaniment of a cloud of sulphurous smoke that swirled around the enclosed space. The room was dimly-lit and empty, but for the empty bed. Kitty gave a small nod – Phase One complete.

"Nice job, Kurt," she said appreciatively, turning to Rogue and Kurt.

Rogue and Kurt grinned in reply – but, for some reason, Kitty felt a chill run down her spine. Slowly and deliberately, Rogue delicately masked a yawn with a gloved hand.

"Ah'm feelin' kind f tired, Kurt," she said, with barely masked malice.

"Veally?" Kurt asked in mock surprise, his tail soundlessly winding in the air behind him. "Vhy is that?"

Kitty threw her hands up in pantomime frustration.

"Fine- I'm sorry I kept you guys up late to come down and thank you _so_ much. I'll only be two minutes. I SWEAR!_"_

"Ah bet your sorry," Rogue shot out, taking a couple of steps away from her, just out of range of even the most desperate of lunges.

"Or you vill be if you can't get upstairs undetected," Kurt continued with a smirk, grabbing Rogue's covered arm.

"You wouldn't!" Kitty gasped, jaw dropping slightly.

"See you in Danger Room!" Rogue said cheerily, as they ported out.

"Ugh! What a pair of ingrateful jerks!"

She briefly considered running, or trying to phase through the storeys above her. No, that wouldn't work…she'd have to phase right through the Professor's room and she doubted that would sit too well with him. Hearing a noise next door, she hurried to the door, pressing her ear against it. Two voices: one low and gruff, one feminine and accented.

"Bingo," she murmured, phasing her face slightly through the door, eyes widening as she pulled back slightly, as Wolverine fiddled with some switches. The lights buzzed on loudly, as her eyes found the newcomer, who had unerringly locked eyes with the other.

"Ehm...Doctor..." Celeste ventured, as Logan turned around, plastic cup of water looking puny in his hand. Her eyes were still locked on the apparition sticking through the door, who was quickly raising a single finger to her lips with a charming desperation. And then – as abruptly as if she'd been pushed by a pair of mutants (who had come to collect their abandoned friend, but seeing her rear peeking out of the wall had been unable to help themselves), she tumbled out of the room, landing on her face.

Blushing heavily, she looked up taking in the sight of a slim, dark-haired girl, pressed against the bedstead as if expecting Kitty to leap up and attack and Logan, who gave a snort of derision at her appearance.

"Danger Room, Half-Pint," he said, barely concealing delight at finally having found a channel for his irritation. Kitty near wilted on the spot, pushing herself up as if all the exhaustion of the hours waiting had just fallen on her narrow shoulders. She dragged her feet as she headed for the door, before quickly turning.

"I'm Kitty Pryde!" she shot to the bed-ridden girl, who still looked at her in disbelief. "Come see me later, okay? I'll show you around!" And, with that, she departed.

"Merde," Celeste murmured- almost certain that the girl had fallen through a solid door.

The short, hulking man walked back over to her.

"Sorry kid, this ain't no hospital and I sure as hell ain't a doctor."

(Oo)

**Frayed**: Over and out! I'm off from university for a couple of months, so I've gotta couple of free hours each day to work on personal projects. Like giving rebirth to this story, so I can finally complete it happily.

Yes, I know this has already been published once before...but that was ages ago. Literally _years_ ago. And I'd love to finish it, but looking back at the story that kinda just winds it way around, it doesn't loan itself to the grandness of the plot I intend. So bear with me.


End file.
